Tra Sole e Parole

Behind every wedding dress I wonder how many tears have been spilled? I wonder if her cream white dress bleached with mine. I wonder if the laces around her shoulders  spun from the webs my fingers knotted in prayer, waiting for him to come back. Was her veil stitched from the sighs I breathed heavily into the dark? Were her pink lips tinted from the roses I watered faithfully in his garden? I wonder if the dreams I spent so much time dreaming, were nothing but bricks  to build her altar. Behind every wedding dress, I wonder how much of her joy was made from my ruin.

First Tide The first time I thought about dying, I was fifteen. I was watching New Moon when I saw Bella standing at the edge of a cliff, ready to jump. Ever since then, every time I visit the sea,  I watch as the waves break against the rocks and imagine what if instead of the water it was my body. Will the water still be blue Will the wind still sing Or will it be dark and silent? Second Tide I went to Phuket this year. I ran to the white sand beach, let the salty water wash the blisters still raw on my feet after walking away from you. I could feel the waves pulled me closer, held me tight— a familiar embrace the way yours once felt. I let the water replace the grief that lived in my lungs and realized  the only way to remove pain was to replace it with another. Then it hit me. Clarity flooded down my brain, memories pounded in my chest for all the names I no longer say, faces I tried to buried  rose to the surface. I gasped. But all I inhaled was the air you used to r...